


I found it in my heart to believe you are home

by ans8812



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Break Up, Cheating, Complicated Relationships, Friends to Lovers, M/M, oblivious hockey boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ans8812/pseuds/ans8812
Summary: Maybe Michael never fully got over being traded from the Washington Capitals, but at least he was still playing hockey. At least he still had Tom. But what happens when home is not the same? Would Michael ever be able to find a place to belong?





	I found it in my heart to believe you are home

Michael was practically vibrating as he waited outside the Capitals’ locker room. A mix of nerves, excitement and adrenaline at being able to touch his boyfriend for the first time in almost six months after just witnessing his former team battle hard to beat the Maple Leafs in overtime and take a 3-2 lead in the series. He had not been able to watch many of Tom’s games during the season as they usually coincided with his own hockey schedule, and they had been working around a three-hour time difference for half the year. When the Capitals organization decided not to extend his contract after an early playoffs exit last season, Michael was crushed. This team had been his family, Washington D.C. his home, for three years; the best three years of his life. He was playing in the NHL, rooming with, fucking and eventually dating Tom, and the other guys on the team were like brothers.

 

But when management decided they did not want him anymore, he put on a brave face for the media even while his heart was breaking. In private, he broke down, and Tom was so sweet, so supportive and encouraging, making promises that nothing could separate their hearts even if they ended up on opposite sides of the country. They did. The Los Angeles Kings offered him a one-year contract, sent him to their AHL affiliate before he could play even one regular season game, then traded him to Chicago in January where he finished out the season with the Blackhawk’s AHL team, the Rockford Icehogs. He really liked playing in Rockford; they have him a chance, let him play his game and helped develop him as a well-rounded player. He made some good friends on the team, and it was only 780 miles and an hour time difference from Tom.

 

This was home, though; Tom, the Verizon Center, DC. Despite his own season being done, Michael was excited to be able to watch Tom, who has been playing like an absolute beast, and the Caps make their Stanley Cup run. He was also excited to just be in the same room as his boyfriend again. The past couple months have been rough with him wrapping up a less-than-stellar season in Rockford and Tom preparing for the playoffs. They seemed to keep missing each other’s calls, and texts have been few and far between. But he was here now and they had a whole summer, hopefully with a Cup, to be together.

 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. Michael pulled it out, looking at the screen to see a text message from Erik Gustafsson, his teammate and probably closest friend in Rockford. They had roomed together for a few weeks while Michael looked for an apartment. Erik was cool, friendly, funny, easy to talk to, and had a great hockey mind that Michael liked to pick. Even though Erik played defense and Michael was a forward, their games and styles of play were very similar. They threw their weight around when necessary, were not afraid to fight and stand up for their teammates, but mostly just wanted to get to the net and be part of scoring plays. Erik was also one of the few guys on the team that knew Michael was gay. Of course, all the Capitals knew, but Michael preferred to keep his sexual preference and personal life private.

 

Michael opened the text: _Is he surprised?_ Grinning, what felt like a fleet of butterflies fluttering in his belly, Michael used his thumb to quickly type back: _Not out of the locker room yet._ As soon as he sent the message, the locker room door opened and those butterflies beat their wings harder only to relax just a little when he saw it was only Schmidty, Kuzy and Lars Eller.

 

Schmidty’s eyes went wide, a huge grin spreading across his face when he recognized Michael leaning against the wall opposite the door he had just exited, “Hey, man! I had no idea you were here! How have you been, dude?”

 

Michael accepted his loud friend’s exuberant hug, then fist-bumped Kuzy and nodded politely at Eller, “I’m good, man. Tom doesn’t know. It’s a surprise.”

 

“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll be surprised,” the light in Nate’s eyes dimmed a little. He glanced over at his teammates, who shrugged. That was….odd, but Michael let it go.

 

“Nice assist on the game-winner there, Kuzy,” Michael nudged his former teammate, and the Russian grinned, reluctantly accepting the compliment. More guys burst through the door, none of them Tom, but all of them happy to see their old teammate. Oshie wrapped him in a hug, Holtby pounded his shoulder, Backy ruffled his hair before pulling him into a hug. All of them overjoyed to see their friend again on top of the amazing win. Michael thought it strange that none of them offered any information on when Tom would be out, and they all seemed happy to see him but also guarded. Maybe they felt guilty or something for how management had treated him last year, but Michael held no hard feelings for these guys. They were his brothers. He was so proud of them for having another amazing season, and he was as invested in their quest for the Stanley Cup as they were.

 

“Hey, some of us are going out to Scotty’s to celebrate. You’re more than welcome to come along,” Holtby offered. “You remember where it is, right?”

 

Michael shuffled, “Yeah, I remember. Thanks, man.” Scotty’s was a hole-in-the-wall, but it was open all night, had good food and a decent beer selection, and the guys liked it because it was usually empty by the time they go there. They didn’t have to deal with crazed fans. “I’ll see what Tom wants to do. We’ve got some catching up to do, if ya know what I mean.”

 

“Uh, yeah, Latts, sure,” the goalie suddenly couldn’t look his friend in the eye and pushed a hand through his long hair. “Just, uh, know you’re always welcome here.”

 

“Ok,” Michael knit his brows together as Holtby moved on, swallowing against a clawing feeling at the back of his throat. The butterflies were back for a different – much less blissful – reason, but he smiled and waited for Tom. The door banged open again, and there he was. Michael was not even trying to hide the grin splitting his face, and fuck trying to be cool. He missed Tom and didn’t care who knew. His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his ears, and it was like he had tunnel vision where all he could see was his tall, beautiful boyfriend. But Tom was oblivious, engrossed in something Andre was saying, and….they looked very chummy. Kind of how he and Tom used to be. Tom had his arm around the younger, slightly shorter man’s shoulders, holding him close against his side, and Andre’s arm wrapped around Tom’s waist. They were laughing together. Carefree. Then Tom turned his head to place a casual kiss in Andre’s hair. Michael’s stomach dropped. The butterflies stilled. His smile faltered and his throat felt tight.

 

“Tom?” Michael managed to croak out. Both men’s heads snapped up to see Michael. Immediately, the color drained from both their faces. They dropped their arms, putting some distance between them, but it was too late. Michael had already seen the intimate moment that should have been his.

 

“Uh, hey, Mike, what are you doing here?”

 

Well, this was not the warm, joyful reunion he had imagined in his head. Instead, both Tom and Andre looked guilty.

 

“I’m back….well, I mean, I’m home. It was supposed to be a surprise. So, um, surprise! But, um, well, you look busy, so I’ll just go home….well, to your apartment, and we can talk when you get home,” Michael stuttered, eyes darting between the two men, not wanting to start throwing accusations at his two best friends. His mind was going to some dark places though. His bottom lip trembled. Sucking it in between his teeth, averting his gaze, Michael began to walk away.

 

“Wait, Mike!” Tom called out abruptly, hand running through his wet hair. It was shorter than the last time Michael saw him, and he had the beginnings of a playoff beard stubbling his face. Damn him for looking so good! “I, uh, I don’t live in the apartment anymore.” Tom glanced at Andre, who looked like he wanted to hide or runaway; anything but be present for this conversation.

 

Michael was sure his heart shattered in his chest, sharp shards embedding in his lungs and surrounding tissue. His battered knuckles and bruised face from the fight he had during the last game of the season a week ago did not even hurt that much when they were fresh. Andre was just staring at his feet now. Tom took a cautious step toward Michael, then another, until they were within arms reach. No one reached out.

 

“I’m rooming with Andre,” Tom continued, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dress pants.

 

“You get lonely without me?” Michael smirked, still not wanting to accept what his heart and mind were telling him. But Tom didn’t think it was funny.

 

“He needed some help after he broke his arm, so I moved in and just never left, you know? We, um, decided we liked living together, and I liked having a roommate again. You know I missed you, Latts, then one thing kinda led to another. We, um, slept together.”

 

“We felt awful about it,” Andre piped in quietly. Michael just felt numb.

 

“Yeah, we did, and said it wouldn’t happen again. You know I love you, man. You’re my best dude. I missed you so damn much, Latts. I needed you here, but you weren’t, and we….uh….well, you know, realized we had feelings for each other. Like, real, deep feelings that didn’t go away. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t figure out how. Text seems too impersonal and saying it over the phone wasn’t right either, and I didn’t know when – or if – you would be back anytime soon. Look, I’m sorry.”

 

Michael knew he had every right to yell, cry, maybe throw things. His hands fisted at his sides, but this wasn’t a hockey game. They weren’t wearing protective gear and he wasn’t actually a violent person, despite his on-ice reputation. He could not do anything. He felt numb, betrayed, hoping it was just an awful dream he would wake up from, or a dumb prank. He was sure he looked like an idiot standing there with his mouth hanging open, mind reeling, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. The problem was, Tom rarely talked about his feelings and definitely not if he felt vulnerable. Michael had been faithful and optimistic even when distance and loneliness got in the way. So he did not see this coming. Not that he hadn’t been tempted.

 

Both California and Illinois had some pretty fine boys willing to jump in the sack with a hot hockey player with an attitude, but Michael always remembered those times he and Tom had talked about forever, bodies wrapped around each other in post-sex bliss. That’s what he wanted. Not the temporary scratching of an itch with a random hook-up, but rather the intimacy of two souls connecting, two hearts beating as one; loving and being loved in return. What Michael thought he had with Tom. Apparently, Tom had something completely different in mind, and suddenly Michael needed to get out of here; away from his cheating ex-boyfriend before he threw up.

 

“Mikey?” Tom’s deep voice sounded small cutting through the buzzing in Michael’s ears.

 

“Um, I-I gotta go….out. Need out,” Michael mumbled, ducking his head and hurrying down the hall in the general direction of where he parked his truck. Tears blurred his vision. He hated the thought of wasting emotions on a guy who didn’t seem too remorseful, but this hurt like hell. Thankfully, Michael made it to his truck before he broke down, head resting on his arms on the steering wheel while his body wracked with sobs. He thought about how pitiful he must look; a big, grown-ass hockey player crying alone in his truck over lost love and a future that was unrealistic in the first place.

 

After calming down, wiping tears away with the hem of his T-shirt, Michael remembered he had no place to go. He had planned to stay with Tom for as long as the Capitals were in the playoffs, then they were going to go home to Toronto and spend the summer golfing, fishing, swimming, hiking, working out and making love. Now what was he going to do? There was no way he could go to the bar and face the other guys, plus there was a possibility Tom and Andre would be there.

 

He drove around the city he loved and knew so well. Even after a year of being shuffled across the United States, this city still felt like home. His heart had ached to return everyday that he was gone; to go to Georgetown Cupcakes with Tom, wander hand-in-hand around the outdoor mall, shop for bargains at Costco like an old married couple. Now his heart ached because those moments with Tom were no longer his. They were Andre’s now and only memories for Michael. He needed a distraction; something good and happy to take his mind off the shit show he had unwittingly walked into. Michael made a phone call and was sitting in the Oshie’s driveway twenty minutes later. He texted TJ to let him know he was there so he did not have to ring the doorbell and wake the baby.

 

“Uncle Latts!” the 3-year-old ball of energy known as Lyla Oshie flung her little body at him as soon as TJ opened the front door. Michael scooped up the girl, tossing her in the air and catching her again. Her delighted giggles made him grin.

 

“Hey, sweet pea! Oh my gosh, you got so big!” Michael teased, lightly tickling the toddler. “Are you driving yet? Headed to college?”

 

The little girl laughed, squeezing Michael’s cheeks between her pudgy hands, “No, silly! I’m only 3, Uncle Latts.”

 

“Oh! You’re only 3? Could’ve fooled me.”

 

“Three going on twenty-three,” TJ commented as his wife walked into the entryway.

 

“Don’t encourage her,” Lauren groaned, wrapping her arms around her husband’s waist as his went around her shoulders effortlessly. “She’s already growing up too fast. Hi, Michael, it’s nice to see you.”

 

“Hi,” Michael settled Lyla on his hip and smiled at his friends. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”

 

“Honey, you are welcome any time, and if you wanna babysit my kids you can stay for as long as you want,” Lauren reached out, gently squeezing Michael’s forearm, genuinely happy to have him in her home again.

 

“Come see my blocks, Uncle Latts,” Lyla kicked at Michael’s sides, urging him to action. “Come see, come see!” Michael set her down and she took his large hand in her small one, almost dragging him down the hall into the big family room. Lauren and TJ followed. Little Lyla puffed out her chest as she showed off the block tower in the middle of the room. The tower was taller than the girl. “Papa helped put some blocks on. But look, Uncle Latts, it’s so tall!”

 

“That is quite a tower you’ve got there, sweet pea,” Michael grinned down at the proud, excitable child even as his heart broke all over again for what could have been.

 

“I always try to make a tower with mommy, but Leni knocked it over.”

 

“Yeah, little sisters are pests, aren’t they.”

 

“Says the little brother,” TJ chirped. Michael smirked, rolling his eyes, but he loved how his old teammates still treated him like he belonged.

 

“Ok, baby, time for bed,” Lauren announced. The little girl whined, face screwed up in dismay at having to leave her toys and Uncle Latts. She begged for a few more minutes to knock the block tower down, and Lauren conceded. Together, Lyla and Michael swooped their arms into the structure. The toddler giggled, as delighted by the destruction of her creation as she was to build and show it off. Michael chuckled with her, temporarily forgetting his own heartbreak in the light of little Lyla’s pure, childish joy. After picking up the blocks and putting them away, Michael wrapped Lyla up in a big hug.

 

“Good night, Uncle Latts,” Lyla kissed his cheek. “Are you gonna be here tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be here in the morning, sweet pea. Good night. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Michael gently pinched the giggly toddler’s belly before kissing the top of her head and handing her over to her mother.

 

“The guest bed is made up for you and there are clean towels in the bathroom,” Lauren explained. “You know where everything is. Make yourself at home, Mike.”

 

Once Lauren and the squirming toddler disappeared up the stairs, TJ turned to his friend, clapping the younger man on the shoulder, “Hey, man, I’m sorry no one warned you about Tom. We just thought you two broke up, ya know?”

 

“Naw, I don’t blame you guys. This is all on Tom and Andre. They’re the ones who fucked up. And, like, the worst part is, he probably would have just kept stringing me along if I hadn’t caught them. I mean, looking back the writing was on the wall, you know? But I thought it was just the distance and we could work it out this summer,” Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making the dark strands stand up on end.

 

“I know, man, I’m sorry,” TJ hugged his friend, not knowing what else to say.

 

“I’ll be fine. Go put your daughter to bed. I need sleep, too. Thanks for everything, dude.”

 

“Ok, see you in the morning.”

 

TJ headed upstairs while Michael wandered down the hall to the guest room off the kitchen. He had spent his fair share of nights in this guest room over the years. The Oshies had taken him and Tom in when they were back and forth between Hershey and DC during Tom’s rookie season, and this is where he would come if he and Tom were fighting. It seemed fitting now that he was here for the end of their relationship, even if the full weight of it had not fully set in yet. Michael stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed under the covers. He was tired but unable to sleep, so he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, texting Erik without even thinking.

 

                 _Tom and I broke up._

 

Erik’s reply came just seconds later.

  
                _Oh shit, man, what happened?_

 

                _Turns out he’s been cheating on me._  
 _With Andre._

 

                _Fucking horseshit! Fuck no! I don’t_  
 _care of they’re in the playoffs. I will_  
 _fuck up their shit! You don’t_  
 _deserve that!_

 

Michael smiled at the response, mood lightening at the knowledge that at least one of his new teammates had protective feelings toward him. He was used to being the protector – the enforcer – the big guy on the ice willing to duke it out with anyone who pushed his teammates around. Off the ice, he watched out for everyone else, too. He was older than both Tom and Andre, so he had taken it upon himself to be the one in charge, the “big brother”. Erik was younger by a year, but he was definitely bigger, taller, and just as feisty – possibly even more than Michael. A second text from Erik popped up on his phone.

 

                _Are you ok, man? Well that’s stupid._  
 _Of course you’re not. Please tell_  
 _me you’re not still planning to stay_  
 _with him._

 

                _I’m at the Oshies, but I don’t want_  
 _to be in DC anymore. Not planning_  
 _to go to anymore playoff games._  
 _Can’t handle it, don’t wanna see_  
 _my old team and ex who didn’t_  
 _want me do what we always_  
 _talked about doing together._

 

Erik’s reply did not come immediately. Michael checked Twitter, waiting, but when his phone buzzed and he opened the new message, his heart raced and head felt fuzzy as he read what Erik typed.

 

                _You should come home and stay with me._

 

Home? Could he consider Rockford or Chicago home? Michael always thought home was where Tom and his family are. It hit him that he needed a new home now, and maybe that’s what hurt the most. Even when he was being shuffled around this past year, Michael still felt rooted because he had Tom in DC and his parents and brothers in Ontario. Could he be home even if he was alone?

____________________

 

Erik busted up laughing at Michael’s story and re-enactment of Ovi trying to squeeze into too-small Under Armour.

 

“It say large when I buy,” Michael did his best Ovi impersonation, Russian accent and all. “Only problem is large for youth.” Erik was gasping he was laughing so hard, tears streaming down his cheeks, and Michael had never noticed how his dark eyes crinkled into slits or he let such unabashed emotion play on his face for everyone to see. He’s gorgeous. Whoa! Where did that come from? It must be the alcohol. They had just polished off an entire bottle of red wine.

 

Michael had kept his promise to Lyla, spending a couple days with the Oshies before he texted Erik. He has been at Erik’s for a week now, just hanging out and enjoying his time off.

 

“Oh my god!” the Swedish defenseman wiped the tears from his eyes then casually reached out, placing his warm palm on Michael’s knee. “That man is a parody of himself!”

 

Michael chuckled, “That’s not even the half of it, man. Some guys think he’s a douche or self-centered or whatever, but he’s actually an incredible hockey player and spends more time helping out guys during practice than working on his own game. He also happens to like attention, which, like, who doesn’t, ya know?”

 

Erik stared at his friend maybe a beat too long, but the wine warming his insides made him feel soft and uninhibited. He cocked his head slightly, “You really miss your old team, don’t you.” It was an observation, not a question. Michael shrugged, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. Emboldened by the alcohol and dim lighting, Erik lifted Michael’s chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. Then he must have realized the intimacy of his actions because Erik pulled his hand back like he was burned. “I, um, well, do you think you could love another team like that?”

 

“Are you blushing, Gus?” Michael smirked, pursing his lips to keep from busting up.

 

“What? No!” Erik covered his flaming cheeks with his hands. “It’s the alcohol. Makes me all flushed.”

 

“Ah, yes, obviously that’s what it is,” Michael’s eyes glinted with mirth and he wanted nothing more than to—

 

Suddenly, Erik closed the distance between them on the couch, grabbing Michael’s face and kissing the smug grin right off those perfect bow lips. Michael’s eyes went wide before he sank into the sensation of Erik’s soft but commanding mouth slanting over his; a little sloppy but tasting of the sweet wine. His heart fluttered, that army of butterflies in his belly all beating their wings in unison, and this….this is what he wanted; how he wanted to feel but thought he never would again after Tom. Then Erik was pulling back.

 

“Shit, I-I’m sorry, Mike, that was, um, inappropriate,” Erik palmed at the back of his neck. “It’s – it’s too soon, right? And, like, you probably don’t even like me in that way. I just….the wine, you know, the low lighting, and – and your company. Your laugh, your eyes, I’ve been enchanted by you for awhile but couldn’t – you know – because you were taken—,”

 

“Hey, Erik, relax, man,” Michael interrupted, placing his palm on the nervous man’s knee. Erik clamped his mouth shut and finally met Michael’s steady gaze. “I might like you, too.”

 

The big defenseman blinked, hoping he actually heard what he just thought he heard, “Might?”

 

A slow grin spread across that mischievous, pretty face, hazel eyes bright, cheeks ruddy from alcohol, and Michael shrugged. Erik thought that face – that man – was going to be the death of him, but he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting past that funny, teasing, but guarded and shy first layer to the beautiful soul underneath.

 

“Eh, you’re all right, I guess,” Michael gripped the collar of Erik’s button-down and pulled him in again. “Come here, silly boy.” Their lips met again; this time slow and seeking. Michael’s tongue licked sweetly along Erik’s full bottom lip, urging his mouth open. Instead of dipping inside though, Michael took Erik’s lip between his teeth and lightly sucked. Erik sighed, hands spearing through Michael’s thick dark hair, teasing at the back of his neck before settling at his clavicle, bared by the V-neck of his T-shirt. Obviously, he knew Michael’s body was solid, hard; they were hockey players after all, but it was better than he imagined. Michael was all hard muscle under soft warm skin. _So good._ They pulled back slightly so their mouths barely touched, breath mingling.

 

“Tom’s a fucking idiot, and I must be the luckiest guy in the world,” Erik whispered against Michael’s lips.

 

“Are you trying to flatter me, Gus?” Michael chuckled. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

 

“Oh my god! Why do I even like you?” Erik rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, dark eyes gleaming.

 

“I don’t know,” Michael’s fingers threaded through the hair curling at Erik’s nape, “but, yes, I think I’ve found my new home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tom and Andre are jerks in this one. Good news: it's fiction!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please please please leave comments. Constructive criticism is always welcomed!


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